The Hungry Games
by jojowerid
Summary: SYOT SYOT SYOT! This is not your average Hunger Games. Remember that scene in Mockingjay where people vote for Capitol Hunger Games? What if that won? The Capitol is split up like the districts, and each district has its own specialty, like the original Districts. Let's go!


**Hey guys, I've decided to do another Hunger Games series. SYOT SYOT SYOT! This is not your average Hunger Games. Remember that scene in Mockingjay where people vote for Capitol Hunger Games? What if that won? Inspired by a story (I can't remember what it's called, review saying it's yours if it was yours) with the same plot line. YAY! The Capitol is split up like the districts, and each district has its own specialty, like the original Districts. Let's go!**

**PS: I am going to make up 3 characters: This chapter's character, and then 2 others. One of them is one of my OCs. Also: I, unfortunately, do not own the Hunger Games. All references of events and characters that took place or were featured in The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, or Mockingjay all belong to the marvelous Suzanne Collins. YAY! I also overuse the word force in the first few paragraphs…**

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**District One – Decorations**

I am Elsa Murray, 15 years of age, and I live in what used to be Amiraness of the Capitol. Now it is called District One, and we are being forced to participate in the Hunger Games. My parents would force me to watch the revolting Games, watch innocent people be murdered for the entertainment purposes of the Capitol. And now, my parents are forcing me to enter my name in the reaping ball. I am not looking forward to the day that lingers ahead of me, the day when my name might be called out to participate in this disgust, this.. This... This _mistake _of Panem.

As the day edges closer and closer, my parents ready me for the reaping. They buy me a pale yellow dress that shines like the sun, that glows indefinitely. It seems that my parents want me to stand out, to be reaped, to, perhaps, VOLUNTEER. I am completely against the idea of volunteering. I mean, I get why so many ex-district one tributes have volunteered – to be known across the land, to be multi-millionaires, but the thought of volunteering just makes me melt to a puddle of neglected ice cream.

When the day finally arrives, I am drenched with fear. If fear was water, I'd be soaked to the inside. I do not have any friends to support me except my Justus. I am a loner; no-one likes me because of my hatred for the games. I have 2 siblings, so you would think I would be safe, like Katniss Everdeen's little sister Prim, but no. My older sister turned 19 yesterday, so her name was never entered into the reaping bowl, and she is not eligible to volunteer. My younger brother, Maxwell, even if he could volunteer (and he would, because he thinks he's the boss of the world), I wouldn't let him. Not a precious 8 year old. As I approach the large crowd of 15 year old girls, my knees start trembling. I stand next to the only girl I could possibly call even an extremely distant friend, Leatrice Applemore, and she smiles at me. "Wow." She sighs, "I love your dress. You look like a delicate shard of the sun!" I thank her, and she wishes me luck. I wish her the same and then we turn our heads back to the stage.

Our district representative, Johanna Mason (originally from district 7, also our mentor), walks proudly up to the reaping bowls. "All right. Does anyone need me to introduce everything, or is everyone polished up from watching the games for centuries?" No-one says otherwise, so she continues; "Good. May the odds be ever in your favour, yada yada yada. Time to reap the girls." She ruffles her hand around inside the bowl for a few seconds, then triumphantly pulls out a slim strip of paper. She smiles, as if it is someone she knows well. For a long while, I dread that it is my name, since Johanna is my art teacher in school, and I am the best in her class. I soon realize she would not be smiling like that if it was me, but boy, was I wrong. Her voice rings out, loud and clear: "Elsa Murray!"

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**MALE TRIBUTE**

I watch as the girl of my dreams waltzes up on stage. I look over to my sister, to see her slightly tearing up as she shouts out, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" Johanna Mason, who is our District's mentor, replies to this sudden volunteer, with her hand pulling out the boys slip. "I am terribly sorry, but if you were to volunteer, you should have done so while our tribute was walking up. Justus Applemore!" Oh no. This can't be. I am being forced to fight the girl of my dreams…

My sister rushes up to me and powders me with kisses. I brush her away, promising to come back as the first winner of these Capitol Games. My father comes in; "Good luck, son." He says in his deep voice. "I know you'll do very well." Very well? Very well!? Very well doesn't cut it! You've got to WIN! Not do very well and get your body shipped home in a box! I was worried, so worried. I banged on the wall, wanting to speak to Elsa. "Go away!" I yell at my family. I want no-one but my Elsa. "Elsa!" I shout, once my family have left. "Elsa! Elsa!" She bangs back, screaming, "JUSTUS! JUSTUS!" They eventually pull away the parted wall, and we race towards each other, her leaping into my arms. I kiss her passionately, and she kisses me back. Maybe, I think, just maybe, if we die, we'll die like this. While kissing. The Peace Keepers walk in, and break us up. "Can't have another Everlark, now can we?" chuckles one of them. The other glares at him, and I realize that the glarer is none other than Gale Hawthorne, who had been crushing on Katniss his entire life.

We board the slow train, and I take a look around at the horrific sight. Johanna (our mentor), Wednites (my Stylist), and Trenton (Elsa's Stylist) speak to us in a tone that suggests we were 5 year olds, not 15 year olds. They tell us we will be fighting for our lives - as if we didn't already know that. I am not looking forward to The Hungry Games.

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**So how was that? Good? :D See you guys later!**

**-Jojo 3 3 3**

**WHY WON'T THESE HEARTS WORK!?**


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